


I'll Hold On, For You

by heizl



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Civil War (Marvel), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Steve is the sweetest guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6905128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/heizl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the draining fight with Tony Stark, Steve hurriedly rushes Bucky off to get him the Hell out of there, and make an attempt to find the help he needs. Hydra is still playing mind games with Bucky and as he drifts off into sleep, he experiences the flashbacks he's familiarized himself with, but nonetheless, they freak him out and he can't quite calm down.</p><p>Steve does his best to take care of Bucky, assuring him he's fine, he has got him.<br/>He has always got him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Hold On, For You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for this pairing, and rather, first time really writing Steve and Bucky all together, as I usually focus on other characters (coughs, the two dumb Gods, cough). So, I do hope I did these two justice. 
> 
> Anyways, I really hope everyone enjoys this! I wrote this for my good friend Sam, and this is dedicated to them. 
> 
> This is stemmed from the plot, "Bucky is panicking from a nightmare and he's freaking out and Steve wakes him up and he's tries his best to help and calm him down." 
> 
> This story takes place after the ending fight scene in Civil War, but before Bucky goes back on ice (imagining that probably never happens in this particular story). Also, I believe that Steve and Bucky have already established their feelings, albeit not too well. 
> 
> Enjoy! I plan to write much more Stucky in the future. c:

 

Red, white, and blue clashed against the sullied concrete ground, uneven blood blots staining crimson, vibranium ringing, clunk of the impact loud over strenuous breaths. Leather half-gloves squeaked under balled fists, the honey-blonde haired American hesitantly crouching down to place a hand against his fallen comrade's thickly clothed chest. He could still feel the vigorous thumps of his heart pumping, the rise and fall of his abdomen, weak body quivering from shock. With a strong but mindful tug, the brunette man stood on wobbly legs, only arm wrapped around the other's broad shoulders.  
  


“You just don't get it, do you? You don't know him like I do.” Blue eyes timidly peered at the bearded man whose face was swollen, fresh bruises developing. “He's my friend, Tony.”  
  


“So was I.” The armored man spoke in a near whisper.  
  


“No, you weren't.” And with that, Steve turned on his heels, sluggishly traveling back through the maze of collapsed building to the outdoors, his hold tight on Bucky's nearly limp frame, feet dragging.  
  


“Buck...” he begun to say, sucking in his thin lower lip, but words fell short when he saw the far-gone, distant look in his baby blue eyes.  
  


The Quinjet had remained right where they left it, having only arrived mere hours ago which felt like days. Many would label what Steve was doing, what he had done all of those years, as asinine. He himself very well knew it was absurd to protect someone who was considered a murderer to these lengths – America's ' _role model'_ no longer abiding to laws, hard-earned friendships shattering, trust no more. He was nearly a criminal at this point, or rather, no. He _was_ a criminal.  
  


However, despite enjoying the relationships he had with these new people – a ginger Russian spy, someone whose anger issues were beyond belief, the long haired God from Asgard, whom he did not see as any different from everyone else – Bucky wasn't just another friendship to fill up time. Bucky wasn't some guy to him. He wouldn't have risked his life, be risking his life, sacrificing freedom and independence, if he wasn't meaningful to him.  
  


Meaningful was a bleak word to represent the endearment Steve held for Bucky. He was completely and utterly infatuated with him. Without Bucky, he was absolutely worthless. The moment his best friend's grasp slipped and he was plummeting to his death through the blusterous, thick air, he felt an excruciating ache, stomach churning, soul leaving his body right then and there. He screeched his name, his throat had felt as if he drank gallons of molten lava. Tears could not fall down, every function within him ceasing and time just froze before his very eyes. He couldn't save him, and when he awoke for a second time, fresh out of the ice, he resented still being alive. He could not comprehend a life without Bucky.  
  


The first time he heard someone else speak his name in  _decades_ , he was taken back to being that scrawny scared kid in Brooklyn again. When their fists collided, Bucky having no recollection of Steve, not even knowing who he himself was, his heart shattered into a million pieces. But, he knew he couldn't give up. He had to keep trying. He _had_ to have his sweet, caring, genuine Bucky back. The soldier's doe-eyed stare when he stood above him, stock-still, surroundings drowning out; he knew he was beginning to change. Steve's name left his lips in petrified uncertainty and the former _Captain_ just grinned, the only thing he could do.  
  


Yes, Bucky was considered a machine used solely for killing, a weapon of mass destruction, and that's why everyone eagerly detested against Steve interacting with him anymore than he already had. To Steve though, this was the same man he'd grown to adore, the guy that stood by his side at his Mother's funeral, drying his tears and offering him that pure pearly white smile, the human being that he was absolutely crazy about. He wasn't the _'Winter Soldier'._ I mean, yes, that is what he was called, but that's not how Steve saw him.

  
Bucky's senses, emotions, memories, they were eradicated, but only temporarily, he knew. Not once did he hold an ounce of fear for him, never would he allow them to construe these misconceptions in his mind.

 

Scooping up Bucky's worn figure, he placed him in the passenger's seat in the cockpit, cautiously buckling him in, not too tight. He had not spoken a word, barely a flinch releasing from him. Steve leveled their faces as he boldly brushed greasy chocolate-brown locks behind his ear.  
  


“You still with me, buddy?” he spoke, gentle.  
  


Mouth agape, Bucky struggled to meet his gaze. “...Yeah.”

  
“It's going to be a long ride, so just take it easy. The fight's over.”  
  


“The fight's never over...” he murmured.  
  


“It is for as long as you're with me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Three, possibly four, hours had passed since they took off from the snowy plains, venturing to travel the quickly darkening skies. Bucky had long been encased in the deepest sleep he could muster, passing out the moment his eyes flickered shut. Steve didn't blame him, he was dead tired himself, he couldn't begin to imagine how exhausted he was, mentally _and_ physically. Flipping a small switch, the plane was set in autopilot mode. He leaned back in the plastic-like dark gray seat, deeply sighing. Running a calloused hand down his rugged face, he peered over. Stress ate away at Steve until he was consumed, strained in doubt. He had not yet begun to process the day's earlier events, or rather any of the events that had been taking place for, well, a good chunk of the past year. Always in the heat of the moments, he would dissociate to an extreme that could be deemed as borderline psychotic. This was a nasty habit he learned against his will, his mind's natural security blanket.  
  


Reaching over, he blindly felt the ghost of what use to be an arm. Fingers retracting into his palm, he tenderly gripped his strong shoulder, wary to not wake him. It would take quite some time getting use to Bucky being without limb on that side now, just when that robot arm was growing on him.  
  


“I shouldn't have put you through this...” he muttered in the near silence, allowing himself to finish with, "I'm so sorry." 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The total flight time had now been five and a half hours – light blue morphing into pitch black, now being met with a glimpse of sunrise. In given time, they would be reaching their unideal destination, but Steve's heavy-lidded eyes drooped and vision itself begun to blur. With another hour remaining, he figured an impromptu power nap would do more good than harm, preparing him better for when he actually had to land this thing. Drifting off, colors fading and dimming, he patted Bucky's thigh, hand taking comfort in the warmth radiating from him, knowing that he was still _alive_.  
  


Only minutes since Steve drifted into an unconscious state, Bucky jerks, unaware; nose scrunching, eyes squeezing tight, lips parting, fingers twitching.

 

He's being dragged by the collar of his torn jacket through wintry fields, scattered rocks scraping against numb skin; the tingles sent through his nerves were electric. Thrusted against a chilled operation table that was dented to Hell, the demented men hovering above him stall no further. A vibrating buzz resonated in his ears, blade meeting his skin as the demolished remains of his muscular arm were sawed off.  
  


Silver metal glistening under the blaring overhead lights, this _thing_ was now part of him. Urging him to test the device's capabilities, he bent at the elbow, pivoted at the shoulder, flexed open his palm.  
  


Titanium fingers found themselves wrapping around the girth of an unlucky man's neck, squeezing airways tight, choking the living daylights out of him. His new rulers displeased, he faces his first punishment of many; arms roughly shoved behind his broad back from noncompliance, thick rope digging into his one fleshed wrist, dark red friction burn forming. A harsh slap, hasty kick with heavy boots, beaten until he buckled under his own weight.  
  


He's brutally thrown down onto a chair, sweaty, scratched up bare chest exposed, forcibly made to sit still until forearms are trapped, confined underneath metal clasps. Desperately, he lifts his appendages in a poor attempt to escape, jaw clenching until his bones ached, face contorting in struggle.  
  


No, there was no leaving this living Hell on Earth he was subjected to.  
  


His chapped lips are jerked to expose his dry mouth, over sized rubber guard placed between teeth, instructed to bite down. Unable to swallow his own saliva, he nearly chokes until a new discomfort is discovered. His body jolts to the best of its restricted abilities, yells muffled.  
  


Ice nipping at his nose, his being freezing over – the first time he experienced the agony that was cryostasis, he mentally bid his farewells. _Years_ he spent locked in that suffocating tube, mere _days_ allowed before he was tucked back away in storage until he was of further use.

 

 _Stop_ , he screamed before awakening in a calmed state.

 

 _Good morning, Soldier,_ they would say.

 

 _Ready to comply_ , he'd respond.

 

Torturous screams pounded against his skull. He doesn't remember who he's killed, faces all blending and meshing together, the victims that crossed his path totaling to hundreds, pushing at a thousand even. However, the whimpers of fright and pleas for him to reconsider his actions haunted him, mental anguish never dispersing even when his slate was wiped clean.  
  


Being sent after Steve, instructed to specifically rid of this man; he should have known by the way they informed him of the mission with smug grins, that this guy he fought against wasn't just another target. He was loaded with weapons – uzi strapped firmly to his back, semi-automatic pistol pressed to his bulky, clothed thigh, grenades for extra precautions hanging from his belt, black, thin knife twirling in his touch. Frantically, he attacks Steve in any means; metal fist colliding with his weathered shield, bullets grazing the fabric of his navy blue jacket, blade in close contact with his flesh, biting at his skin. Steve pushed back with all his might in apprehension, Bucky still unable to crack the expression he wore in those agonizing battles.

 

 _Buck_ , he breathed as Bucky rammed his fist into his soft skin an abundance of times until he bruised like a pear.

 

 _It's me, Buck_ , he mumbled before Bucky tossed him like a rag doll down the elevator shaft, grimacing.

 

Hydra, they fueled his deranged mind with stuff of nightmares and he would occasionally fantasize over the endless possibilities to killing Steve. He watched as his face's complexion shifted from milky white to flushed pink to tones of purple. In his hands, he'd hold his prized method of protection, grasping onto the brown, leather handles that had seen quite some wear and tear.  
  


A smash into the chest, bones cracking with a gruesome snap, he levered the tool above his head. One, two, three, four bashes until he squatted above his lifeless corpse, sneering. No, no more did he want to think like that. It destroyed him from the inside out when these unwanted thoughts invited themselves in.

 

Eyes shooting open, Bucky thrashed in a panic-induced cold sweat, beads dripping down the back of his neck, brows furrowed. Instinctively, he urges to flee and he fights with the thick seat belt until it clicks to release. Nowhere to go, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.  
  


Dashing to the back of the carrier, head spinning at a hundred miles per hour, he collapses to his sore bruised knees, arm limp by his side, writhing in the trauma he experienced on a daily basis. He swore shadowy silhouettes danced before his very eyes, wails of those who he killed, the sound their souls made upon release, piercing. He shouted incoherent sentences, challenging the voices until his tone was raised to compete with a shriek, loud enough to wake Steve in a worried daze.   
  


Half-awake, he glances over to see the empty seat, whimpers like a lost puppy traveling down the enclosed space. Snapping into his senses, no time to waste, he rushes towards the very back of the jet, Bucky bent over in a distraught heap. Bending over, he outstretches his arm, fingers brushing against the small of his strong back, but Bucky retaliates, springing to his feet in response. He shoves him with the little force he could conjure, stumbling ever-so-slightly.  
  


“Don't touch me, Steve... Please.” Bucky begged, withdrawing the spark of emotions that pleaded to spill out.  
  


“Bucky,” he spoke low, calm, “I won't let anyone, or anything, hurt you. _You_ won't hurt me. You're safe with me.”  
  


Bucky scoffed, however not demeaning, more out of curiosity, “How can I be safe with you if I'm not safe in my own goddamn mind?”  
  


“I don't know.” Steve spoke truthfully. “But, Hell if I won't keep trying to protect you.”  
  


Wrapping his brawny arms around Bucky's torso, he pulled him in tight, as close as their bodies could possibly be, denying his requests of separation. The warmth from the other man's body was near overwhelming and Steve's heart swelled with compassion and pure _love_ , there was no other word to describe that feeling.  
  


Giving in, Bucky crumpled under his touch and nuzzled his head into Steve's sturdy chest, tears escaping from his blood-shot eyes. He's sobbing, and this is the only man, only person for that matter, that he'd allow himself to be vulnerable around. He was the only person in existence that could make him actually feel alright, like he really could fix his fucked up self. Even if it was just momentarily, he always managed to pull him from wallowing in the depths of self-pity.  
  


Steve faintly stroked his fingertips down his spine in his most soothing fashion, Bucky's tremble evident as they slowly swayed back and forth. Nose burying into thick chestnut strands, he placed a kiss upon his scalp. Bucky shyly peered at Steve, cheeks dampened, sniffling, breath wavering heavily, teeth chattering.   
  


This man who Steve had always admired for being full of unbreakable confidence was now diffident and, that made him treasure him to lengths he couldn't even begin to fathom.  
  


With his free hand, he dried his tears before clearing Bucky's cluttered vision, copper hair tucked behind petite ears. Tenderly, he planted a kiss to his scorching forehead, traveling to his reddened nose, stopping at his final destination - his pink, plump lips. Breath hot against his skin, he can make out Bucky mumbling, to no one in particular.   
  


“I'm just a machine,” he husked, “I'll just hurt you. I can't hurt you, Steve. I can't lose you, again.”  
  


“You'll never lose me, Buck. _I'm with you til the end of the line._ ” Steve quoted those words Bucky once spoke in sentiment, the soldier's breath hitching.  
  


“I'm not me, I'm... Why would you want to stick around _this_?” he said hushed.  
  


“I remember meeting a goofy kid who saved my ass time and time again. I remember him drawing stick figures in art class, spending all my money with him on useless junk, who I'd stare at when we double-dated, wishing he was _my_ date,” he pauses, faintly grinning, “That's all you, pal. That's _still_ you.”

  
"I'm broken," Bucky breathed, nearly inaudible.   
  


"So am I. We can be broken together," he spoke smooth, "put the pieces back together and become complete."   
  


A sound that could possibly be taken as a laugh escaped from Bucky. "That's really cheesy, Steve."   
  


"Yeah, well... I tried."   
  


Monotone, Bucky spoke, “You still want to be friends with me?”  
  


Steve chuckled. “I say all of that and you're _still_ questioning?”  
  


Steve feels Bucky dig his blunt nails into the soft fabric of his top, gripping on like he was afraid of drifting away, like he was his anchor. And really, they were both each other's anchors. Steve knew he was nothing without Bucky and vice versa.  
  


Tucking his head into the nook of the hardly taller man's neck, Bucky sighed, the anxiety from the nightmares steadily diminishing as he breathed in his scent. “I'm in love with you, you know.”  
  


“And I'm so madly in love with you, Buck. It's nuts.”  
  


Bucky lifted his head, adorning sea blue with flecks of green meeting terrified cobalt. He closed the minuscule gap between them, Steve's lips bringing him right back to where he needed to be, reminding him why he had to keep pushing through the thick to come out in the thin. It would never be easy, life had never been a walk in the park in the beginning, but with Steve by his side, it was a bit more tolerable, the outcome seeming not as glum.  
  


Steve caressed his coarse cheek, stubble faint. “ _God_ , I _really_ love you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

As they begun to descend, distanced towering buildings evident through the windshield, Bucky's weary voice trembled. “Til the end of the line, huh?”  
  


Smiling, Steve nodded. “Always.”

 

As the jet made contact with the dirt underneath its wheels, the two decided it was in their best interests to attempt to take a light snooze before they embarked on their further adventures. Bucky detested but Steve convinced him he was too worn out to travel for the hours they would have to, on foot.

 

Steve, with the back of his skull pressed into the cushioned headrest, felt Bucky hovering over him, his stare creating enough energy to draw goosebumps.  
  


“You just going to stare or are you going to join me?” Steve teased, squinting one eye open.  
  


Gingerly, Bucky sat on Steve's snug lap. It was an uncomfortable position as there was barely enough room for a single body, but nonetheless, Steve tugged Bucky into him, a gentle kiss to his ear.  
Uncomfortable would describe these entire, what, past seventy years? But despite the bad, there were underlying hints of content and ease.  
  


He knew together, they could push through anything. They'd made it this far, disregarding reality, given a second chance, really. Not a good one, both of their lives were more than a bit fucked, but, still, they were grateful deep down. They'd never admit that though, of course not.  
  


Noise was groggy in Steve's ears, but Bucky's voice came through clear, like a firecracker setting off. “I'm scared.”  
  


Steve traced his thumb over the other man's palm soothingly, desperate attempt to alleviate Bucky's pain. “I've got you, Buck.”  
  


“...I know.” With that, his attempts proved successful and he relaxed into Steve, tranquil sigh escaping. “Punk.”  
  


Steve laughed, hoarse. “Jerk.”

 

 

 


End file.
